Out Damned Spot
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Molly goes into shock following an accident, Sherlock helps her to pick up the pieces.


**A/N: This story is based on the _Castle_ episode 'Deep In Death' (S2E1) and the 'sleepwalking scene' in Shakespeare's _Macbeth _****(Act 5, Scene 1)**_, _the title comes from one of Lady Macbeth's lines in that scene. For the purposes of this story, I extended Molly's duties to include escorting bodies back from crime scenes (like Lanie in _Castle_). Hope you enjoy :)

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Out Damned Spot**_

"_You would hardly have recognised her, she was the only calm one on the scene…She handled herself remarkably well, without her there I doubt we would have gotten much sense of what had happened…Her quick action would have saved Trevor's life too, if only the ambulance had gotten there sooner."_

Sherlock had barely listened to Lestrade's explanation of why there was no body to meet him when he arrived at the morgue and, unlike the detective, he wasn't surprised that Molly had kept a level head when the van bringing the body back to the morgue had unaccountably been hijacked.

What did surprise him was that she was nowhere to be seen and he was more than a little annoyed that no one had even noticed her absence until he questioned it. They had all been too busy singing her praises and trying to make sense of the situation to notice her slip away.

He would not have been so careless but, then again, not everyone paid as much attention to the pathologist as he did.

The actual incident itself was no more than a 3 and he'd easily pointed Lestrade in the right direction to recover the body (and the assailants) before he'd 'accidentally' given John the slip and gone in search of her.

It took him much longer than he'd been anticipating, but he eventually found her in the bathroom attached to the morgue washing her hands.

Over and over again.

He paused, still unnoticed, in the doorway and watched as she continued to scrub her hands; hands that were already clean and starting to look a little raw. He noted the hint of desperation in her actions as she continued to scrub invisible marks off her hands.

Normally, he would have taken even that small display of emotion as his cue to leave; but this was Molly: the woman that counted, the woman he…needed.

And, right now, she needed him.

Silently he stepped towards her and turned off the tap; she looked up at him with wide, haunted eyes as he gently steered her away from the sink and started to dry her hands.

"I couldn't save him," she said numbly, staring into the middle distance and completely unaware of his ministrations.

"It's not your fault," he told her.

"He tried to save me," she continued absently, as though she hadn't heard him, "they pointed the gun at me first, but he told them to leave me alone. Then he tried to stop them from taking the body, I told him to just let it be, but he didn't listen," she looked up at him, "why didn't he listen?"

Any response Sherlock would have given was cut off as she suddenly realised what he was doing; she pulled her hands away with a gasp. "What are you doing?" she demanded, becoming almost frantic as she held her hands up to the light, "I have to get the blood off," she insisted, turning back to the sink, "there was so much blood."

He stopped her before she could turn the water on, grabbing her hands as she tried push him away. "Let me go," she protested, struggling against his hold, "I have to wash off the blood…there was so much blood…" she broke off with a sob.

The fight went out of her and she sagged against him, leaning her forehead against his chest, "There was so much blood," she whispered before she burst into tears.

It was a mark of how much he had changed since his return that Sherlock didn't even hesitate before he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him as he let her cry into his shirt.

Eventually, her tears began to subside and he leaned back slightly to look at her face, "Better?" he asked and she nodded, sniffing a little as she wiped away her tears.

"I'm sorry about your shirt," she said finally with a small smile.

His lips twitched, "Don't make jokes Molly," they said in unison, making Molly laugh. Sherlock smiled at the sound; pleased that she seemed to have recovered, at least partially, from her shock.

"Thank you," she said after a moment, as her laughter subsided and she looked up at him with a warm smile.

Sherlock gave her a half-smile, a little embarrassed at the realisation that he still had his arms around her. He cleared his throat and took a step back, releasing her, "Coffee?"

Molly looked thoughtful, "Or perhaps something stronger?" he suggested, "I know where John hides his scotch."

"What about your case?"

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder, "Barely a 3," he said dismissively, as he steered her out of the bathroom, "hardly worth either of our time."

"Should we be breaking into John's secret stash?" she asked in a low tone as she paused to put on her coat.

"He says it's for 'medicinal purposes,'" Sherlock replied, slinging her bag over his shoulder and absently taking her hand, "at least your claim is legitimate."

Molly looked down at their entwined hands with a bemused smile as she allowed him to lead her out of the morgue, amazed at the change her day had taken.

For his part, John never found out exactly what had happened to his scotch, although he suspected it had something to do with the night Sherlock spent with Molly, claiming he had to keep her 'under observation.' He never found out what Sherlock had meant by that either, but a bottle of scotch was a small price to pay if it brought the pair just that little bit closer together.


End file.
